Rest
by terrified
Summary: One-shot. An accidental continuation from Taste. Sherlock coaxes Molly to get some rest.


**Rest**

_A/N: I really should be working on 'The Admirer', but these one-shots are the only things time permits me at the moment. In any case, I hope you like it. x_

The morgue was quiet, as usual, save for the clock that ticked. Sometimes there would be faint footsteps as Sherlock got up to walk from whatever corner he was sitting at, usually pacing slowly around the bodies that lay before him. Molly stood by him, not too near nor too far. She knew the delicate balance of being near enough to assist him, but not too near as to get in his way. He was now energised from the tea at dinner and was on an analytical high as he surveyed all the evidence he and Molly had retrieved since they began work that afternoon.

Every so often, he would ask Molly a question and she would check her notes or refer to a stack of very niche and advanced medical references. Molly was always a hard worker and late nights were not unusual for her. However, it was no longer night, but dawn. The ticking clock made a slightly louder ticking sound, meaning a new hour approached. Molly heard it and looked up. "3 am…" she whispered. Somehow, the realisation of how late (or early) it was reminded her of her fatigue as she hid a yawn behind her clipboard. Even though Molly had had tea as well, her brain wasn't as wired up as Sherlock's. Another yawn hit her and she managed to stifle it successfully this time.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice her little figure, huddled at one end of the morgue. She was so patient and so helpful, always. Molly was always able to stand for hours whenever Sherlock called on her to assist his investigations, whether at the morgue or lab. As time moved slowly on, Molly could feel her head get heavy and her knees want to buckle. She kept thinking of her warm blanket at home, how soft her pyjamas were and what a wonderful scent her bath soap had.

"Molly?" Molly's heavy lids sprung open with a start. She was sure she had been awake. She was only _thinking_ about sleeping. Surely, she hadn't fallen asleep? Her eyes were slowly shutting, no question about that.

"Sorry…" she mumbled, "Um, did you need something?" Molly absentmindedly flipped through her clipboard when Sherlock gently removed it from her.  
"You're tired, Molly." he said.  
"No…it's fine…You've still not had your…moment. We don't know what happened to these people…" she replied.

Sherlock smiled softly at Molly, who still smiled her brightest at him, keeping her eyes open and bright as she fought her overt sleepiness. Sherlock put his arm around her and brought her to the corner he sat at most often to think. He was about to sit down on the ground when he realised he had forgotten something.

"Ah, my coat…" he said, getting up to fetch it. He brought his signature long, dark coat and sat down on the floor. Sherlock then laid his coat out, perpendicular to his knees.  
"Take off your lab coat," he told Molly. Molly was puzzled but too tired to ask why. He took the white coat from her and placed it in a heap on his laid out coat. He then took his scarf, which he had retrieved together with the coat, and folded it into a neat, thick rectangle. Placing the folded scarf on his knee, he gestured to Molly.

"Come and lie down." he said, tapping the scarf 'pillow' that lay on his lap.  
"I'm not…tired, Sherlock. Really…" Molly remarked shyly.  
"Molly, you and I both know that's not true. Now come lie down."

Obediently, Molly lay down on his stretched out coat, placing her head carefully on the scarf on his lap. It wasn't a bed, but it was surprisingly cosy. Sherlock then picked up her own white coat and lay it over her, forming a blanket.

"You've no problem sleeping with a dead body in the room, I presume?" he asked her.  
"No, none at all."  
"I thought so." he said. Sherlock looked down at Molly's fluttering eyelashes as she continued to battle sleep. Sighing, he placed one hand gently on her cheek, hoping to relax her and coax her to sleep. To his surprise, Molly reached for his hand and held it close to her chest. With his hand so close to her body, he felt her heave a sigh of happiness as she finally curled up, snuggling against him.

When Sherlock finally felt the weight of Molly's sleeping self on his lap, he smiled to himself. Leaning down to look at her peaceful face, he gave her the gentlest kiss on her hair before pushing back any stray hairs that might tickle her skin. Now that she was sleeping, so could he.

Sherlock shut his eyes and slept. His hand firmly in Molly's and her hand firmly in his.


End file.
